


Indiragamana

by Fiera94



Series: Saptha Swara Sangeetha universe [2]
Category: Baahubali - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-03-23 20:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13795512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiera94/pseuds/Fiera94
Summary: Set after the events of Saptha swara sangeetha, Indiragamana is the arrival of Princess Indira in the life of one weary prince of Mahishmathi.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Indira belongs to @queenofmahishmathi who inspired this entire fic with her prompt: Bhalla and Indira's first meeting in saptha swara sangeetha universe :)

The pale red sun glowed, painting the gradually darkening sky with feeble strokes of orange and pink. Soft golden light spilled onto the gleaming white floor of the palace and curved around the muscular form that stood at the massive gilded window. The view showed the ramparts of the palace where a navy blue flag fluttered in the wind with the sole focus of the man's attention centered on it. 

“Father!” A young voice broke the stillness of the room. “Father, make them let go! Akka! The ropes hurt, akka. It hurts.”

The muscular silhouette at the window flinched minutely. Without taking his eyes away from the view, he gestured with his hand.

At once, the boy’s cries were muffled.

“My Lord-” Someone began but trailed off when their Commander straightened abruptly.

Trumpets blared abruptly, making their breath catch. Soldiers stood to attention, taking their eyes off the securely tied prisoners in their midst in favor of looking out of the window.

As they watched, the navy blue flag fluttering at the top of the ramparts started its downward descent, fighting all the way down. A proud yellow flag replaced it instantly and the soldiers, as one, folded their fisted right hands across their chest and bowed their heads.

“Jai Mahishmathi!”

“Jai Mahishmathi!”

“Jai Mahishmathi!” roared the figure at the window, finally turning around to face the prisoners.

Prince Bhallaladeva of Mahishmathi wore a victorious smirk as he took a single step into the room, his red and gold robes flashing in the light. His soldiers stood rigid and alert as they watched him- the man who had single-handedly led them to a victory unlike any other. The bountiful kingdom of Anga had been conquered within two measly days under the leadership of a man very few loved but most respected.

“I must say,” Bhallaladeva began, strolling over to his prisoners who had been forced to their knees. “The _suvarna_ _dwaja_ of Mahishmathi is much better suited to represent such a wealthy kingdom. Blue…was never my colour.”

He got no answer but he had not expected one. His expression was neutral, almost pleasant but his eyes betrayed him. The weakened rays of the sun did nothing to dim the ferocious glint in them. Neither did it soften his hulking form. Rather, it made him look more menacing- the sharp planes of his face accentuated with slivers of shadows and the red orb of the sun framed behind his head like a halo.

“Don’t you agree, Shatayadhu?” Bhalla asked with mock curiosity, stooping slightly to look at the dazed old man. “Maharaja Shatayadhu? But you are not a maharaja anymore, are you?”

His generals, his servants really, laughed as they should at his words. But those midnight black eyes were not on them. They roved over the family of three on their knees before him, their lives at his mercy. It was a heady feeling, one that never got old. Bhalla made sure to savour every moment of it.

“You will concede to the authority of Mahishmathi.” The words were delivered with a solemn air of finality. “Anga will henceforth be a vassal-”

“Never!” The fallen king abruptly roused himself from his stupor to spit in defiance. “I would rather die that surrender _my_ kingdom to barbarians and beasts of Mahishmathi.”

Bhalla allowed a dangerous smirk to flit over his features.

Finally, a hint of challenge.

The conquest of Anga had been easy, too easy. There was simply no fun in defeating a prey that rolled over and showed you its belly. He hungered for a chance to toy with his prey, to really play, to really fight. To let out the frustration and rage boiling within him.

“That can be easily arranged,” he hissed silky before slanting his eyes to the twelve year old boy tied up beside his father. Someone had stuffed a gag into his mouth which muffled his continuous crying. “Careful, Shatayadhu. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your lad, would you?”

Something flashed through the fallen king’s eyes, something that resembled fear but not exactly and Bhalla's smile slipped. 

Did the man not fear for his son?

To test the theory, Bhalla placed a hand on the boy’s head and ruffled his hair, all the while smirking dangerously.

“Let him go!” That voice…did not belong to the old man.

No, it had come from Bhalla’s third prisoner, a young woman who sat with her head bowed and her face hidden behind a curtain of midnight black hair. The tone had been far from timid, unlike her confusing posture.

“And who might you be?”

“Indira,” came the answer, voice raspy but proud. “Princess Indira of Anga.”

Any reply that Bhalla might have had died in his throat when the maiden lifted her head to look at him.

The moment their eyes met, hers catching the last flickers of sunlight and glowing, Bhalla’s world titled and came to a standstill.

Those eyes, those honey brown eyes, burned with defiance and a careful fearlessness that told him that he was seeing only what she wanted him to see. It wasn’t the lack of fear, oh no. She was _scared_.

She was afraid, she was confused, she was desperate. But she was resolute. Her eyes shone with strength that promised to overcome any and every obstacle thrown at her.

Perhaps that was what drew Bhalla in. He’d seen fear in men before, had put it there himself. He’d seen utter fearlessness in the face of danger- like his brother and his wife- but rarely had he seen fear mixed with resolve to overcome it. It wasn’t foolish bravado but realistic bravery and that…was confusing.

“Princess Indira, was it?” Bhalla tried for a blase tone, unhappy with the direction of his thoughts. “You want me to let him go?”

She nodded sharply, eyes unwavering from his.

“Make me,” he challenged, both to distract himself and because he was truly curious to see what she would do.

He gestured for a soldier to free her of her binds and the next second- the very next second- the princess had a dagger to his throat. Her breath come out in pants, her form slightly shivered wehn it pressed against his but her hand holding the dagger remained steady, the other gripping his hair to maintain her position.

Despite the danger- or perhaps because of it- Bhalla laughed.

He laughed and laughed, unmindful of the dagger pressing deeper. Waving away his tensed soldiers, he freed himself in one smooth motion and removed the dagger from her hand, holding it against the boy’s - her brother’s- throat.

Indira glared at him through a curtain of fear. Real fear. “Let him go, you _vitharka_.”

Bhalla growled deeply, red tinting his vision.

_Vitharka_ , she called him.

The son of a monster.

Unbidden, the image of his own father swam before his eyes. His father locked in the deepest dungeon of Mahishmathi. His father, the traitor. His father, the monster who had tried to murder a babe in his mother’s womb. _His father_ , the only one who had loved him, supported him, had been there for him. Always.

The sound of choking brought him back to his senses. Angry eyes widened, fingers going slack around the pale column of delicate throat. Indira coughed, clutching at her throat but when her eyes met his, he saw validation.

He’d just confirmed her assessment of him.

And that…that made him sick.

Bhalla stumbled back a step before schooling his features hurriedly. If she’d already drawn her judgement, he wasn’t going to try and convince her otherwise. Turning his back to the prisoners, he barked, “Imprison the old man. Do whatever it takes to get him to sign the accords”

“What of his children, my prince?”

Bhalla took slow and measured steps towards the door, his thoughts and feelings carefully locked away. “Do not allow them to leave the palace,” he called over his shoulder. “Until the accords are signed, we will take advantage of Anga’s hospitality.”


	2. Chapter 2

Guilt was not a feeling that Bhallaladeva was ever familiar with.

Everything he did, no matter how bad, had been necessary. They’d been done in pursuit of the golden throne of Mahishmathi and every weakness, every hesitation- had been a deterrent.

But this…was different.

Despite his questionable moral code, he’d never raised a hand against a woman. Ever.

But…he wasn’t feeling guilty now, was he? No. 

He’d not harmed her. Why feel guilt?

_“I’m sorry”._

The words formed in his mind but never made it past his lips. His tongue did not trip over the unfamiliar syllables, the words never to be uttered.

_“I’m sorry”._

For a moment, they hung in the air as if they’d been vocalized. Suspended above the hot fire they’d built a while ago, roasting slowly and agonizingly. Bhalla would never know how they would be received by her.

_Indira_.

Huddled in a flimsy shawl that could not hope to ward off the chill if not for the bonfire, Indira stared at him unflinchingly from across the fire. Bhalla stared back, fighting the maelstrom of confusing emotions in his chest. Her gaze simultaneously made him want to do get closer and run away in in the opposite direction.

He did _not_ like the feeling.

“Are you not going to join your men?” Indira spoke for the first time that night, turning away from him to look at the crowd of celebrating soldiers around them.

The palace ground was brightly lit and wine flowed freely; laughter, cheers and toasts disturbing the stillness of the night. Dancers swayed to a strange beat, a song of Anga’s own as was the dance form.

“I have no interest in such frivolities.” Bhalla stated with a curl of his lip. More than once, he had to avert his eyes when the dance became…indecent. It would have been too vulgar for sophisticated Mahishmathi but it suited Anga with their liberal lifestyle.

His men were eating it up, however, most of them too young and too bloodthirsty. As they drew steadily drunk, the rowdiness increased. Several had already tried to grab at the dancers and the maids plying them with mead.

“This was no place for a respectful maiden,” Bhalla said through gritted teeth as he watched one of his soldiers, a green boy, pinch the exposed waist of a dancer who threw him a sultry look. By morning, some of his soldiers would be a few coins short but satiated enough.

“This is no place for Mahishmathians.” Indira returned and Bhalla resisted the urge to sigh. He did not know if her presence was because a misguided sense of playing hostess or simply because she did not trust them enough to not wreck her home.

“I…” He turned back to look at Indira who was absently chewing her lip, looking like she was wrestling with some decision. Bhalla could clearly pinpoint the exact moment that she arrived at a conclusion. Facing him boldly, she declared: “I’m sorry.”

This woman continued to catch him off guard. “You’re what now?”

She scowled. “Do not make me repeat it.”

Bhalla blinked. “Why would be apologize when it should it be…well. I am…”

“I shouldn’t have called you that word.” Her words came out in a rush and she fidgeted slightly under his keen gaze. “I meant to insult you, not your father.”

At that moment, the depth of her goodness struck him like a physical blow. She really did not mean to hurt him, he realized, despite having every reason to hate him. How must it be to be so pure, so full of light?

It was not her fault that the word hit more deeply that she had aimed for.

“My father is a traitor.” He said gruffly, wondering why he was talking at all. This was painful, too painful.

“I’m sorry,” came her hushed reply, her tone sympathetic.

_He hated it._

“I do not need your pity!” he grit out, jumping to his feet. This was why he did not talk. This was why he kept his secrets, his emotions well hidden-

“It’s not pity!” Indira’s reply was just as fierce and Bhalla again felt disoriented at her changing shades. She stood glaring at him like before but there was something else there. Something she kept hidden. “I know a thing or two about disappointing fathers.”

“He did not…” Bhalla raked a hand through his hair, agitated that his emotions were so abruptly spinning out of his control. “He did not disappoint me.”

Indira's gaze burned staright through him. “Did he not?”

Bhalla paused, pondering her words. He should not be listening to her, this princess of the land he’d only just conquered. He should not be laying bare his thoughts. He should...But he could not deny the truth of her words.

Bijjaladeva had disappointed Bhalla, had he not? He’d acted rashly, ruled by the very emotions that Bhalla despised. He’d tried to kill a pregnant woman, stooping to the lowliest of low levels in his haste. Despite everything Bhalla had done, he knew he would never allow himself to descend to the level of poisoning babes in their mothers’ womb.

“What would you know?” Bhalla retorted but the venom was strangely absent.

Indira smiled sadly, moving away from the crowd. Subconsciously, Bhalla fell into step next to her. Together they walked through the ground, cutting through the celebration.

“My father…is not a good man.” Indira told him softly, eyes distant.

“Neither am I.” Bhalla replied truthfully.

“No.” She acknowledged. “There’s a darkness in you that speaks of the horrors you’ve witnessed, the horrors you’ve caused.”

He sneered. “Are you a seer now?”

Indira remained undaunted. “I don’t presume to judge the things you might have done but believe me when I say I’ve seen worse.”

“Your father?” Bhalla guessed.

Indira's eyes turned to steel and she whirled around to face Bhalla in the deserted, moonlit corridor they’d entered. “You will never get him to sign the accords.”

“I will-”

“No,” she cut him off sharply. “Whatever forms of torture you can concoct will not break him. And you need the accords signed if you are to convince the world that Anga is a vassal state of Mahishmathi.”

“I could simply arrange a hostile takeover. Anga will be crushed.” Bhalla reconsidered his words. “Well, more than it already is.”

“You would risk a hostile takeover, at the cost of damaging Mahishmathi’s reputation permanently?”

 “ _Reputation_.” Bhalla spat angrily.

“You might not care much but I’m sure your Rajmata will have a few words to say if you push Mahishmathi to a precarious position.” Indira paused and reconsidered, a perfect imitation of him. “Well, more than it already is.”

Bhalla did not want to think about the Rajmata. Either of them.

It also didn’t help that he was annexing kingdoms without their express permission. He’d set out to clear the Kalakeya hideouts but when that was done, he'd had no desire to return home. It had been five years and two months since he’d last seen Mahishmathi…

“It’s bad enough that Mahishmathi is invading smaller kingdoms.” Indira spoke as if she had followed along his train of thought. It was discomforting. “Without the accord conceding the dominion of Mahishmathi, you can only maintain your grip on Anga through military force. Indefinitely. I’m sure your Rajmata will not be pleased with such a taxation on your country’s wealth and manpower.”

Bhalla growled, taking angry steps towards the princess who remained undaunted. “You dare threaten me?”

“Threaten?” Indira remarked coolly. “No. Just a warning. Friendly advice if you will.”

He stepped forward until Indira had no choice but to step back. He continued until her back hit the wall.

“Listen here, princess.” Bhalla’s voice was low and deadly, his arms on either side of her head- trapping her completely. Her warmth bled into him and against his will, he leaned closer. To compensate for his weakness, he intensified his glare. Indira’s expression did not betray fear, though. And that rankled Bhalla. “If you think I need your help-”

“I don’t think it,” Indira cut him off in a whisper, looking up at him calmly. “I know.”

He scowled suspiciously. “And what do you expect in return for your ‘help’?”

“Only that my brother be named king.” Bhalla drew back slightly, puzzled before she clarified, “with me as his regent. My father…should no longer be in the picture.”

He drew a sharp breath, stunned.

It now Indira's turn to lean closer menacingly. "Now, Commander...do we have a deal?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any changes I've made to Bhalla's personality is only so that he is human enough to be capable of loving and being loved. 
> 
> Also, the concept of annexing a kingdom is something like this in my head: you conquer a kingdom and force the displaced king to sign an accord conceding his kingdom as a vassal state. Once the accord is signed, the dominating kingdom retreats and collects taxes periodically in exchange to providing protection. If the winning side cannot force the losing side to sign such an accord, they will be forced to maintain their grip on the defeated kingdom through brute force, suppressing rebellions and such. Which is why it'll make everyone's lives easier if Indira's father simply gives up...which he won't do anytime soon :P


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small warning: human torture at the beginning and sub par writing. Sorry! :P

The rusted metal doors creaked slowly, leaving deep tracks on the dirt ridden ground. The groan of metal was painful, moving inch by inch and scraping against the stone floor. It grated on the prisoner’s ears who shifted minutely, bending his head towards his shoulder in a vain attempt to muffle the sound.

The sound stopped abruptly, as though the prisoner’s wish had been heard.

Before he could so much as breathe a sigh of relief, a loud clang echoed through the dark, hollow cave that served as a dungeon. The cell doors that had been bothering him so had been slammed against the stone walls with such force that his teeth rattled.

Peering up from underneath his mane of unkempt hair, the prisoner made an stab at a smirk like the ones that so often marred the face that swam before his eyes.

“Shatayadhu.” Bhallaladeva of Mahishmathi called out the greeting pleasantly, as though he was partaking in _athithi sathkara*_ that Anga was so famous for. “How nice to see you.”

The prisoner jerked away, the chains binding his hands and feet clanging at the movement.

“Regretfully, the sentiment seems to be one-sided.” Bhalla said woefully before a slightly manic smile settled on his lips. “Just the way I like it.”

He stopped in front of a barely illuminated table at the corner of the cell. A narrow slit near the ceiling allowed a tiny portion of light to penetrate the darkness, just enough fresh air and light to tempt the prisoner and remind him of the world that he was barred from. It didn’t help that the ventilation was designed in such a way that what little light entered the dungeon fell on the table that contained a wide variety of instruments meant for inhuman torture.

Bhalla picked up a long whip and studied it quietly for a moment, letting his fingers glide over the fine horsehair that was so deceptively silky. Smooth. Like a certain princess he’d met a few days ago…

Without warning, he struck.

The whoosh of the whip echoed satisfyingly in his ears even as it smacked against flesh, cutting a new line of red on the expanse of the prisoner’s already scarred chest. But Bhalla wasn’t satisfied.

No, not when the prisoner barely flinched.

With a low growl, Bhalla struck again. And again and again.

Blood tricked down the fallen king’s chest and ran in rivulets down his face, bursting open from a deep wound he’d sustained when he’d tried to resist his imprisonment. The viscous liquid pooled at his feet, flowing sluggishly and clinging to the stray strands of hay spilled free from what was meant to serve as bedding.

Bhalla wiped a hand over his own face, erasing the few splattered drops and contemplated the silent prisoner who stared back at him defiantly from between the tangles of his matted hair. It was that look, the damned look in those poisonous eyes that pricked at Bhalla each time. The contempt in them, the iron will and the sheer bullheadedness-

“Really now.” Came the soft, exasperated voice. Cool and even. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a simpleton, Commander.”

Bhalla whirled around sharply and the sight of Indira - all silk and smiles and fresh air in the stale dampness of the dungeon - made his chest hurt and head spin. At that moment, all Bhalla wanted to do was drag her away from such an awful place while simultaneously distancing himself from her.

He settled for seething in her general direction.

Indira’s smile widened and she waved her hand to indicate the mess he’d made. “This isn’t helping and you know it.”

Bhalla did not appreciate being schooled. “I don’t see you doing better.”

“Oh but I am,” Indira told him, still using that maddeningly amused tone. “But my way is much more _subtle_.

There was a whisper of moment, a slight shuffle from the prisoner that drew their attention away from each other. Bhalla watched with interest when Indira stiffened and averted her eyes away from her father. “Walk me out?”

But that wasn’t really a request, was it?

The prisoner turned his minutely to look at his daughter and if Bhalla had not been watching them closely, he would have missed the way Indira’s jaw tightened minutely.

“Commander?” she barked sharply when he didn’t move.

Bhalla would have liked to watch more of this weird dynamic and try to piece together the puzzle of their antagonistic relationship but he pulled himself together and strode out of the dungeon, falling in step with Indira without sparing his prisoner a backward glance.

“That was…interesting.” He remarked in a deliberately casual voice.

Indira cut him a look that made it clear that she was aware of his interest.

“Would you care to enlighten me about your plan?” Bhalla asked after a moment.

No reply.

Bhalla’s patience was wearing thin. But before he could say anything, Indira stopped mid stride and turned sharply to face him.

“You have to let me handle this,” she told him calmly. Sternly.

“I cannot sit by idly-”

“You have to.” Indira said firmly. “If you want the accord signed and we both know you do, you will have to step aside.” A brittle smile twisted her lips as she continued, “relinquish control for a while. Perhaps you will find yourself liking it.”

Bhalla clenched his fists but his shoulders relaxed deceptively, the smirk completely contrasting the furrow of his eyebrows. “Relinquish control, you say. Step aside, you say. You know what I say to that?”

Indira raised her eyebrows, her expression shifting a little.

She was wary now.

_Good_.

Bhalla stepped closer and pitched his voice lower to drive the point home. “ I say...you will have to try it yourself and see how you like it.”

“Explain.”

Bhalla frowned in mock consideration. “Which part? Surely you did not think that I would leave everything in your hands? After all, trust goes both ways.”

Indira narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

“Do?” He barked out a laugh. “I did nothing. I may, however, have neglected to inform you of a certain something.”

“Stop speaking in riddles.” Indira’s voice shook with barely restrained anger. “Tell me. Now.”

Far from taking offense, Bhalla’s laughter grew louder. More genuine. “Retract your kitten claws, princess. I merely wanted to bring it to your notice that you will soon need to make a trip to Mahishmathi.”

Indira’s eyes widened. This close Bhalla could see traces of blue in those bright brown irises.

“Why?”

Bhalla looked away, suddenly feeling lost. He was supposed to be in control here, wasn’t it? But now he was the one forcing out words. “To meet the Rajmata.”

“Rajmata Devasena?” Indira asked, hushed.

Bhalla twitched. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“The last say on the accord is hers.” _regretfully_ , he added to himself.

Indira’s voice was dangerous when she spoke. “Are you saying that there is a chance that Anga, that I, will be cheated out of our agreement? I get your accord signed and _then_ I have to bargain to cement my position?”

“I told you, trust goes both ways.”

Indira simply stared at him for a moment before she sagged slightly, trying and failing to maintain her stiff posture. Instinctively, Bhalla held her arm to steady her, ignoring the flare of head at the contact.

“I cannot afford-”

Her sudden vulnerability sparked something in him. “She won’t say no, not to you. Which is why you need to meet her.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“Because she is one of the do-gooders.” Bhalla’s voice sounded sour to his own ears. “A perfect match for my saintly brother.”

Indira looked at him, simply looked at him for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. Bhalla fought the urge to squirm, to run and hide away when her gaze grew sharp, as if staring into the depths of his soul and unraveling the very core of his existence. He didn’t know what she saw, what she understood but it must not have been the truth because her lips slowly turned up at the corners, lighting her face and making his breath catch.

“Bhallaladeva.” Indira spoke his name with care, as though she’d thought of each syllable and infused it with emotions that were beyond his comprehension. “You are such a mystery, Commander.”

Bhalla blinked and then smiled hesitantly. “So are you, princess. So are you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated! Please and thank you :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter and I hope you guys will like it too ;)

“Commander!”

Bhallaladeva paused in his pacing long enough to shoot the soldier at his door an impatient glance, wordlessly asking him to talk.

“There…um, there is a woman at the gates. With a child. Says she wants to meet you urgently.”

Barely anyone was aware of Bhalla’s presence at the guest housing that particular night.

“Did she give a name? A reason for the visit?”

“Nay, sire.”

Majority of his soldiers were stationed at the royal palace and he himself had been given residence there, with his chambers right next the Rani Vilas. He’d spent all his nights in his allocated chambers since his arrival in Anga but that particular night, he had had no desire to be reminded of his...neighbor.

“I could escort her to you, if you wish sire.”

“I will meet her myself. You are dismissed.”

The soldier bowed and departed.

Giving himself a moment, Bhalla straightened his robes and marched resolutely to the gates of the guest housing.He couldn’t puzzle out the identity of his mysterious and curiosity hurried his steps until he was face to face with two cloaked figures just beyond the gates, who stayed in the shadows and away from the flickering torches.

“Who are you?” Bhalla demanded, halting in front of the larger figure. The other was surely the child his soldier had mentioned.

The figure took a step forward when he spoke, directly standing under the torch. The hood was drawn back to reveal a pale, beautiful face thrown into sharp relief by the burning torch.

Bhalla resisted the urge to groan.

“Indira,” he sighed instead, motioning for the guards to open the gates.

This was the reason he’d abandoned his chambers at the palace.

_She_ was the reason.

He had needed a night to himself without constant reminders of the infuriating princess’s presence. He needed to purge himself of any and every thought related to her.

How was he to achieve it if she never left him alone?

“Commander,” Indira greeted with an amused smirk, as though guessing the direction of his thoughts. One of her hand rested on the other hooded figure that was undoubtedly her brother. “We seek asylum.”

“Asylum?” Bhalla laughed without mirth. “In your own country?”

“A country now under your command,” Indira pointed out, quickly walking inside and letting the gates swing shut behind them. “We seek asylum indeed since our own sovereign is against us.”

Bhalla frowned and beckoned them inside, imperious and commanding as sharp eyes assessed the surrounding. His soldiers stood to attention, as wary as their commander. Hurrying them inside, Bhalla whirled around to face her. “Tell me.”

Indira shot him a sharp look and then proceeded to ignore him, throwing the cloak off her brother and fussing over him.

Bhalla crossed his arms and tapped his foot.

“Subodha,” she addressed the twelve year old. “Greet Bhallaladeva, the prince of Mahishmathi.”

The boy- Subodha - stared at Bhalla wordlessly.

Bhalla stared right back.

Finally, reluctantly, the boy folded his hands and bowed. “Pranaam.”

“Namasthe.” Bhalla said with a nod, only to be contrary.

“I don’t like you,” the boy said abruptly, only to cuffed lightly by his sister. “What-? It’s true! Guruji told us to always speak the truth.”

“In that case,” Bhalla said with a small smirk. “I don’t like you either, young man.”

“And I don’t like either of you at this moment,” Indira cut in sharply, turning to her brother. “But the prince and I have made an agreement. As much as we don’t like each other, we all need to work together. So, play nice. Okay?”

Surprisingly, her stern look was directed at him as well, as though he was another misbehaving child.

Bemused, Bhalla could only nod.

“First things first,” Indira beckoned to the soldier standing guard at the door. “You! Escort my brother to Prince Bhallaladeva’s rooms and bring two more soldiers to safeguard the door.”

Confused, he glanced at Bhalla only to be met with a surprised and slightly amused look. When he nodded, the soldier beckoned the boy to him.

“Subodha,” Indira crouched in front of her brother. “You need to sleep. You will be well guarded, I assure you. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

With a last suspicious look at Bhalla, the boy left with the soldier. When the door swung shut behind them, Bhalla stepped closer to Indira.

“What. Happened?” He demanded, not liking the suspense.

Indira simply sighed and waved away the other soldiers until it was only the two of them in the room. Regardless of his impatience, Indira strolled to the decanter placed next to the window and poured herself a glass of wine.

Turning to face him, she leaned against the window and smirked. “Shocked that I drink?”

He was.

He really shouldn't be. This princess continued to surprise him at every turn and he should be used to it by now.

Shaking away his thoughts, he sauntered to the window and raised his eyebrow at her. Wordlessly, she poured him a glass as well.

They stood in silence for a while, looking out at the sleeping city of Anga. Crickets buzzed, breaking the stillness of the night. The cool breeze carrying the scent of _parijata_ _pushpa_ wrapped around them, settling comfortably into the strange companionship between the two unlikely allies.

Bhalla shifted slightly, unused to feeling such ease around people. It was unsettling…but not unwelcome.

He stole a glance at the beautiful woman next to him, gritting his teeth at the sudden tightening of his chest when she smiled at him softly. Hastily, he took a sip of his drink to distract himself.

“There was an attempt at our lives.” Indira said abruptly, turning away from the view to face him.

Bhalla nodded slowly. “I guessed as much.”

“It was my father.” She told him with iron clad certainty.

Bhalla frowned. “I’m assuming he had outside help?”

Indira nodded and swirled the liquid in her glass contemplatively. “A few ministers are loyal to him. It must be one of them. Of course, they would never act without his say so.”

“How did he get messages in and out of prison?” Bhalla mused. “I will have to look into this.”

“Please do.”

“I suppose I need to send some of my men to clean up the bodies?” Bhalla teased lightly, a little taken aback at how easily they were talking about an attempt to her life.

“There were five.” Indira told him. “Now in Yama’s abode.”

Bhalla chuckled but quietened when a realization hit him: her life had been endangered and her first instinct had been to come to him for help? For safety?

Why?

When was he ever anyone’s shelter?

Bhalla didn’t know what to do with such a display of trust from this princess who always messed with his head and left him reeling with shock and surprise. Was he worthy of he?

Undoubtedly no.

Would he do his best to live up to her faith?

He did not know why the answer was a resounding yes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm....Hi?! Anyone here? :P
> 
> All I can say for about my disappearance is that writing block is a bi**ch. If anyone is still reading this, I hope you enjoy a glimpse into Indira's mind :)

As a child, Indira is always a quiet one.

While children of her age are rosy-cheeked from playing under the sun, messy and dirty and full of love and laughter, Indira huddles in shadows; she reads until the sun dips down the horizon, reads until her eyes start to itch and the _deepas_ snuff out.

She knows her books are harmless, unlike people.

The beautifully framed sentences paint tentative, fragile pictures of emotions she has only ever heard of; the glimpse of love, happiness and acceptance inspiring sweet, sweet longing in the little girl who has never experienced them but desperately wanted to.

Indira ignores the ache in her chest and presses on, masking her reality with tales of brave Draupadi and the sly Narada, the wise Ganesha and the beloved Karthikeya.

The last one gives her pause; the lord had been loved and cared for by six Krithikas in addition to his own parents. Indira wonders how she must have sinned in her previous birth that she could not even afford one…

* * *

Her father hates her.

Indira has long since accepted this; she has given up on trying to change his mind. One incident too many has taught her to be wary, has taught her to hide. Her grandmother, the wise queen mother of Anga, smiles with sad eyes and tells her it is not her fault.

Her father wants a son, her grandmother says, a sigh rattling her frail old body. A king needs to think about his kingdom, she says. He needs an heir to secure the throne.

Indira believes her. She does.

But she is confused.

She could do all that, she could! She could secure the throne, she could rule.

Ah, her grandmother smiles sadly. A daughter is a gift meant for her future husband, she says. A father has no right on his daughter.

That, Indira paraphrases, simply means that the weight of throne is snatched away from her shoulders and replaced instead by the heavy burden made of contempt and cruelty.

Why should gender matter so?

But Indira knows better than to voice her questions. The man she calls father has a powerful backhand and isn’t averse to using the cane liberally. But in the privacy of her mind, she wonders. Why, why, why?

* * *

Indira finds happiness in the company of her baby brother.

She can drown out her mother’s wheezing breath in the sound of his giggles, she can hide her tears in his smiles, can heal herself with his gurgles and twinkling eyes. She resolves to keep him safe, shelter him from the queen’s indifference and the king’s wrath.

Despite the birth of a son, her sire continues his downward spiral until she is sure he’s hit the rock bottom; one person cannot possibly contain so much poison, can he?

She is proven wrong.

Her king comes to her in the dead of the night, scaring away her maids and slamming the door shut. He advances on her with a smile that sets her nerves on edge, hands tugging away at her _kausheya_ * and meaty hands touching her forcefully; subduing her struggles like smothering a particularly pesky fly.

His hands are rough, making her skin crawl. She gags, cries and fights against those hands…

…and they abruptly disappear.

Her grandmother stands over them, her weak body trembling with efforts as she bears down her cane again and again on her son’s large back. It does not hurt him, nothing ever does. But it distracts him, enough that Indira can wiggle free and shuffle into the safety of the shadows under her bed.

A door slams shut and the dove white carpet is stained with bile. Indira retches and huddles into the bony arms that were her salvation.

Her grandmother grants her refuge thereafter, teaches her everything she knows with a hope that Indira would survive.

And she does.

* * *

 Indira flourishes under her grandmother’s tutelage.

She learns the art of politics, of subtle manipulation and keeping calm in the face of danger. She learns to smile prettily, hiding away the razor sharp edge and the steel underneath. She dances into the night, her skirts flaring around her, round and round and round until her sorrow is caught and shredded by the fierce wind whipping around her.

Indira becomes the darling of the Court.

Everyone loves her, falls for her dimple cheeked smile and the merry twinkle in her eyes. They marvel at her gentleness, her grace and her empathy. Men fall at her feet, captivated her soft curves and supple figure. Women grapple with each other to be her friend, to win her favor.

But Indira knows the truth.

She sees beneath the smiles into the envy underneath, the dirty leers beneath the starry eyes, the questions beneath the praise. After all, they say, a monster’s daughter can only be a monster.

Indira smiles that particular smile that just drips honey and silences the naysayers.

She knows who she is underneath the beautiful exterior and has long since made peace with herself and her true nature. She is, what the world might call, selfish but really, the world has never much given her reason to be selfless. She knows she is ruthless and would do anything for her little brother, the only family she has left now that her grandmother has passed away.

Her mother didn’t count, withering away on her bed. She has never counted and why should she, when she’d effectively abandoned Indira to the mercy of the beast wearing the guise of her sire?

And her father?

_“Your daughter posses the beauty of an apsara, Your Majesty.”_

But not the fate of one, Indira resolves to herself.

_“You have the blessing of Goddess Lakshmi, Your Highness. It is as if mata herself has incarnated as your daughter.”_

The king hides a grimace. After that fateful night, he has stayed away from her. Grandmother has ensured it.

_“You are very fortunate, My King. Your daughter will fetch a handsome dowry. Anga is blessed.”_

Indira scoffs silently. Her father was cursed, that’s what he was. Any other woman might have been crushed under the weight of being her father’s daughter but not Indira.

Far from being crushed, Indira aims to crush her sire.

* * *

 Indira is aware that she is, what the society would call her, a bad person. But that does not bother her.

Sometimes she wonders if it should.

_“Please Princess!”_

Thunder booms in a distance. Her chamber is illuminated by a hundred _diyas_ and yet, Indira feels the darkness sinking into her bones. The silk sheets underneath her body burn her skin and she throws them off, desperately clapping her hands over her ears to drown out the echoes of her maid’s tear filled cries.

_“Please do not do this, Your Highness! Please!”_

Indira trips on the tangle of sheets, straightens and slips out before the man on her bed could wake up. Beads of sweat dot her forehead and her hands shake as she gulps down a cool glass of water.

_“Have mercy, Princess. Have mercy!”_

_Mercy_ , Indira huffs out a laugh as she walks over to the balcony. She’d never been shown mercy by her father. Never. Perhaps he would be inclined to show some to her maid, someone who was not her.

Maybe.

“Oh but Sundari, I wish I was sorry.” She whispers, looking up at the starry night sky. Biting cold wind tangles her long tresses, causing gooseflesh to erupt all over her bare, overheated body. She flings her arms out, reveling in the cold that chases away the residues of her dream.

For it had been a dream, not a nightmare. Indira does not have regrets and briefly, she she ponders over her lack of conscience. Sundari had always been so good to her and yet, Indira had pushed her to take the fall on her behalf without a second thought.

The king may suspect his daughter but even he could not move to convict her when all evidence points to the crime being committed by her maid.

But really, the council ought to know better. After all, what use did a servant have of the King’s _mudra?_

Indira’s lips curve into a smile as she runs her dainty fingers over the gold chain adorning her neck, from which hung the royal seal of Anga.

Oh, she has plans for the little round thing. Oh, so many plans…

* * *

Her love for her brother is fierce, volatile and all encompassing. There isn’t anything she wouldn’t do for him. Or for herself, if the situation called for it. But despite her outward bravado, Indira struggles with herself.

As much as she wished otherwise, Indira is still that little girl that had been all gap toothed smiles and happy chatter. She is still the girl that cared for injured animals and trusted too easily. She is still that girl who had ran after her father, tripping over her little feet as she begged him to help her mother. Had begged him to accept her.

Indira cannot afford to show such weakness now.

But she yearns, oh how she yearns to be shown her place in the world. How she yearns for a family, for people who would love her unconditionally like her brother does.

Like her grandmother did.

Perhaps then, she wouldn’t be so bad? Perhaps then, she would be at peace with herself?

But she is also wary. She knows that if she lets someone in, she would let them in all the way. Her love is powerful, her acceptance final and unshakable. She could only hope that the little girl within her would not be her ruin.

* * *

 Fate has never been kind to her. But it has never before been as cruel as it was when it decided to throw a wayward, bloodthirsty prince into her path.

In the blink of an eye, her home is snatched away from her and years on years of careful planning and subtle manipulation tossed down the Sarayu. Her father is brought down to his knees like she always wanted but by hands that were not hers.

But Indira is nothing if not adaptable.

She strikes a deal with the devil, her home in return for his protection. Her right to the throne traded for her right for vengeance.

Falling in love with the said devil was never a part of the deal.

* * *

Indira has never been in love before.

She isn’t even sure if her newly awakened feelings towards the devil- nay, a man flawed and twisted out of shape by life- is indeed love. Indira knows attraction, is intimately familiar with desire and carnal pleasure but _this_ feels more.

But Indira is certainly not ready to swoon at his feet and surrender her everything to him but she is willing to try her hand, to get a taste of the warm feelings and heady rush when his breath washes over her.

She wants more, she needs more.

But she isn’t willing to compromise herself to satiate her thirst.

Curiously, Commander Bhallaladeva doesn’t demand anything from her save her trust and her father’s cooperation.

Indira does not know what it says about her that the former is much more difficult than the latter.

* * *

 “Fate is fickle,” Indira could hear her grandmother whispering in her ear. “The wheel of fortune always turns, my child. Always turns.”

“Sugar and spice,” little Indira recites dutifully. “Joy and sorrow.”

“ _Athivrusti_ ,” Indira breathes, drawing her knife in a neat line across the man’s throat. Too much, he’d done too much to her.

“ _Anavrusti_ ,” she whispers, cradling her brother close. Too little, she’d done too little for him.

“ _Sukha_ ,” she chants, wiping the knife clean on her _kausheya_ as she walked past the unconscious guards slumped on the corridor to the dungeon.

“ _Dukha_ ,” she murmers, tossing ghee into the _yajna kunda*_ while she performed the final rites for her father in nothing but blood.

_Katvamadhu_ , Indira thinks, bittersweet as she catches her Bhalla’s eyes from across the room.

Life is all about balance indeed.

Her promise fulfilled, Indira now looks to the future without hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kausheya --> silk garment/petticoat  
> Athivrusti-Anavrusti --> Too much&Too little  
> Sukha --> Happiness  
> Dukha --> Sorrow  
> Yajna kunda -> fire pit for yajnas  
> Katvamadhu --> bittersweet


	6. Chapter 6

“Indira!” Bhalla called angrily, throwing open the doors to her chambers. Her maids screamed and scampered when Bhalla strode inside, his eyes searching for a certain princess that had yet again vexed him so.

“Where is she?” he growled, blocking a handmaiden’s escape.

“M-my lord…” she stuttered when a calm voice cut through the air, accompanied by a gust of hot air scented with roses. “Here I am, Commander.”

Bhalla whirled around, eyes widening when they fell on Indira standing at the door of a small antechamber.

Her bathing chambers, Bhalla realized, going by steam billowing outside and partially obscuring a wet haired Indira with dewy skin dripping water.

Indira was clan in nought but a white drape- a loose half saree that ended at her knees. Water soaked the garment as well, making it almost translucent but Indira didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

Bhalla gulped, hoping he was subtle as his eyes raked her from top to bottom without his consent.

No lady of Mahishmathi would ever dare present themselves in such a fashion.

Indira was supremely confident in her skin, however, dismissing her handmaidens and approaching Bhalla with an eyebrow arched, silently demanding an explanation. Bhalla scrambled to collect his wits, recalling the reason for his anger.

“What did you do?” He demanded, stepping closer to the princess who was all innocent smiles on the surface.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play games with me, Indira.” Bhalla growled, his face inches from hers. She didn’t back away and neither did he. “Your father is dead.”

The briefest of smiles crossed her features.

“I know it was you.” Bhalla accused.

The smile on those lush red lips widened.

“How?”

He demanded, struggling to keep the admiration from his tone. “It is not easy to slip past my guards.”

“I’ll tell you how.” Indira said, brushing back the dripping strands of her hair. Without warning, she rose on her tiptoes and put her mouth next to his ear, shattering him with the heady scent of roses and clean skin. When she spoke, her warm breath caused goosebumps to erupt on his skin. “I killed him.”

Bhalla exhaled shakily.

She drew back slightly, just enough to look him in the face. “I killed him with my own hands and I have absolutely no regrets.”

“The blame will fall on Mahishmathi.” Bhalla grit out, his fists clenched in an emotion far from anger.

Indira laughed breathlessly. “Do not worry, my prince. The story of an unknown assailant has already been spread throughout the kingdom.”

“You…” Bhalla shook his head and looked away from those bewitching eyes. “You are a chameleon, my lady.”

Of all things to say…

Indira, however, looked delighted. “Why?”

It was his turn to smirk. She had been messing with his head since day one, it was only fair to test what he could do to her. Leaning down until there was barely any space between him, he watched with satisfaction when her breath caught. “I think you know.”

Her pink lips trembled and Bhalla…could not hold himself back anymore.

His famous self control hurtled itself out of the window as his lips touched his, forceful and demanding but oh so gentle. To his surprise and confusion, Indira responded eagerly, pulling him closer as though she’d longed to do that for a while now. Bhalla nearly groaned when he felt her body pull flush against his, his hands meeting naked wet skin and-

_No_.

What was he doing?

He didn’t deserve her.

She didn’t know, she didn’t know who he was.

What he was.

Bhalla wrenched himself away, panting and panicking.

“Bhalla?”

Hearing his name, his nickname from her lips, threatened to undo him. “We can’t do this, Indira.”

Her confusion intensified. “Why ever not?”

“Why not?”

Bhalla laughed, sounding unhinged to his own ears. “Why not, she asks. I will tell you why not, Indira. Because I am a monster.”

Indira looked striken. “You are not-”

“Yes, I am.” Bhalla growled, pulling at his hair. “Do you know that I tried to kill my brother?”

Indira’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“Yes!” Bhalla crowed, a laugh bursting from him that sounded manic to his own ears. “Yes, I did. Before you say anything, no, it is not the same as killing your father. He hurt you, did god knows what but you know what my brother did Indira? His greatest crime…was loving me.”

Indira looked conflicted.

“Not so eager now, are you?” Bhalla taunted. “My hunger for the throne was so bad that I did not, could not, hesitate to do anything that brought me closer to it. Do you know the worst part?”

Mutely, she shook her head.

“The absolute worst part was that it was all for nothing!” Bhalla’s voice regained its strength, regained the venom and the stability. “All my crimes…for nothing.”

“Bhalla-”

“Did you know that I also tried to separate my brother and his wife?” Bhalla got some sort of sick satisfaction watching Indira grow paler. “Why should Baahu have everything, after all? The kingdom as well as the girl?”

Indira’s eyes filled with helpless tears as she watched him, words failing her.

Bhalla exhaled harshly, feeling drained. Reluctantly, he raised his eyes to meet her red rimmed ones. “And that is why you need to forget about me, Indira. I will be your ruin.”

Indira shook her head, conflict written all over her features. So he made the decision for them.

Bhallaladeva, for the first time in his life, gave up.

He walked out, each painful step taking him away from the one person he now realized meant everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo....this went a little overboard. In my defense, it was written months ago and I really couldn't be bothered to revise it :(
> 
> On a positive note, we now have about 3 chapters left! I can finally let IndiraBhalla rest in peace and despite how much fun I had with them, I can finally go back to my Amarsena :D

**Author's Note:**

> How will I get my recommended dose of motivation if not for your comments?  
> Comments = happy me = more chapters and quicker updates :P


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